Spring Showers Box-set

by Avell Kro

  would have made him a peer, a nobleman’s son.”

  “But he was mine!” Mary screams. “He was all I had, and you took him from me.” Her hand rises,

  pointing at a tree by the bridge. It’s the same black tree I saw in my vision earlier today. The corpse

  of Mary Hul hangs over the water. “Look what became of me. See what you drove me to!”

  Glancing that way, Lady Alice cries out, hands flying up to clutch her heart. “Oh, no! I never meant

  to harm you. I never meant to cause you despair. Please, take it away, I cannot bear to look. Please.”

  Her cry moves me to pity. “She has acknowledged what she did, Mary. Are you satisfied?”

  Mary’s face is downcast, her voice dull and miserable. “Yes. Let her go.”

  But a thought occurs to me. “You need to forgive her, if you can. That will help you move on and

  find peace.”

  Mary considers for a moment. “Very well,” she mutters. “Yes.” She looks over at the ghost. “I forgive

  the wrong you did me. I am sorry for the pain we caused your soul this night.”

  I take a deep breath. One down and one to go.

  Recalling what the ritual said to do next, I pick up the water and pour some on the ground. “Lady

  Alice Huntington. By the power of true magic, I release the binding and set you free. Return in

  peace from whence you came, and be there peace between us evermore.”

  But Lady Alice doesn’t leave.

  §

  She stands there, looking back at the body hanging from the tree.

  When she faces us, she says, “I remember now. I have seen this before, when I passed this

  way…lying in my coffin.” She shudders and gives out a long, fearful moan. “I remember my death…I

  rose in the night, frantic because the nurse said the child was missing. I was in my nightclothes,

  running toward the stairs and then…there was terrible pain and I was falling.” As if by reflex, her

  hand clutches the side of her neck. “That is all. I do not know why I died.”

  “They said that you tripped running down the stairs,” Mary tel s her.

  “I do not believe it,” Lady Alice says. “I would never have been so careless. No, there was someone

  there…”

  Sinking feeling. I think of the story, that Mary Hull pushed her down the stairs. I glance at Mary,

  who immediately says: “I was not there. I was hiding in the stable with my babe.”

  “No, not Mary Hull,” Lady Alice says. “But some person—I do not know who it was. And yet, I must know…That is why I cannot leave. You tell me to return whence I came, but I came from Tamgrove

  Hall. I realize now I am bound there, because my death is unresolved.”

  Well, this is lovely. Now I have two ghosts to help cross over. My plan was to release Lady Alice

  before trying to summon up Sir Charles.

  As Franklin would say, we’ve gone seriously off-script.

  Time to improvise, Abby.

  “I will help you if I can, Lady Alice. My intent now is to summon the spirit of Sir Charles. Perhaps

  he has knowledge that will help us discover the answer.”

  So, with Mary Hull and Lady Alice watching, I pour another libation. “In this place, to this

  protected circle, I summon the ghost of Sir Charles Huntington, who dwelled in Tamgrove Hall. I

  call you here now to speak with us.”

  I repeat the chants to the Elementals, calling Sir Charles’ name and sounding the verses over and

  over, raising up my power.

  Before long, a dark shape appears at the bridge. It lurches and stumbles toward us. By the time it

  reaches the circle, it has formed into a man, dressed in shiny purple trousers and a jacket with lace

  at the cuffs and collar. He is tall and heavyset, but old, with stringy gray hair and a pointy beard.

  His face forms an angry snarl. “God’s body! Where in the name of hel are we?” Looking around

  wildly, he recognizes Lady Alice and then Mary Hull. “You, Alice. And you, strumpet! What deviltry

  is this? Why are we here?”

  His rage is terrifying, and Lady Alice and Mary both shrink from him. I have to grip my nerve hard

  to answer.

  “I am Fighting Eagle, initiate of the Circle of Harmony. I summoned you here, Sir Charles, and I bind

  you to speak the truth.”

  He looks me over with a sneer. “What’s that you say? Nay! I answer to no sniveling girl.”

  Sniveling girl? We’ll see about that. I point my dagger. “I bind you to my will, to tell the truth. What happened between you and the maid, Mary Hull?”

  He glances at Mary and then at his wife. “Aye, the little strumpet seduced me. And when she got big

  in the belly, we even offered to take her child. The deceitful bitch agreed, but then wanted to

  change her mind, and stole the child back in the night.”

  “That is not true,” Mary cries. “You forced yourself on me. You stole my innocence.”

  “Bah. Liar!”

  Time to apply more power.

  “By stone and sand, by bank and hill,

  I bind thee, spirit, to my will.

  By the Earth on which we stand,

  I bind thee, spirit, to my command.”

  He looks worried at first but then sets his jaw. “I have no fear of your witchcraft, girl. I’ll say no

  more. Let me go, damn you!”

  “Not until you tell the truth.” I repeat the chant, gesturing with the dagger.

  But it’s not going well. I sense his stubbornness is more than I can break. The dagger shakes in my

  hand.

  Something flickers beside me. I turn my head and see that Mary is gone. Franklin is standing

  there—and looking enraged.

  “You pig! You think you can use people, hurt them however you want, because they are helpless?

  You forced yourself on Mary Hull, admit it.”

  Sir Charles’ eyes widen. For the first time, he seems intimidated. But he crosses his arms over his

  chest. “I’ll say no more, I tell you. Set me free.”

  I’m gaping at Franklin. He is totally different, transformed by the magic of the circle. All the rage

  and self-loathing he secretly keeps inside has come loose and is roaring out of him. He points a

  finger at Sir Charles and starts to chant.

  “By the Earth on which we stand,

  I bind thee, spirit, to my command.”

  He says it again and again, his stage-trained voice loud and booming. Sir Charles flinches. He

  glances down, and I see bands of energy, like tentacles of fire, wrapping themselves around his legs.

  He groans and then shouts. “No more. No more, I tell you.”

  “Speak the truth!” Franklin yells.

  “Yes, Yes. I seduced the little trollop, I admit it. Why shouldn’t I? She enjoyed it wel enough.”

  “The truth!” Franklin commands.

  “Agh! All right. I took her against her will. I confess it. Make it stop.”

  “No, there is more,” Lady Alice says, wild-eyed. “I see it now. I remember. It was you! You devil, you

  seized me in the corridor. You murdered me.”

  “Yes!” The ghost screams in pain. “I was sick of you, you whining bitch. You and your barren

  womb, your whimpering over the bastard child. I wanted a wife who would give me sons. I

  deserved no less. So I dispensed with you when I had the chance. Agh! No more!” The strands of

  fire have covered all but his head. He twists and struggles. “Let me go! Let me go for pity’s sake.”

  I’m stunned, staring at him, at Lady Alice. Beside me, Franklin stares in astonishment, and his body shivers.

  The ghost of Sir Charles howls in agony.

&nb
sp; “Are you satisfied, Mary?” I ask. “Should I release him now?”

  “Yes,” Mary’s voice whispers through Franklin’s lips. “He is a pitiable thing.”

  “And you, Lady Alice. Are you satisfied?”

  She stares at the writhing, shrieking ghost with contempt. Her tone is hollow. “Send that thing

  away. I cannot abide the sight.”

  I raise the dagger, my arm weak. “Sir Charles Huntington. By the power of true magic, I release the

  binding and set you free. Go in peace from whence you came. Go now.”

  The fiery tentacles disappear, and next moment the ghost of Sir Charles vanishes, like a hologram

  blinking off.

  The circle is suddenly very quiet. Lady Alice stares at the spot where her husband’s ghost stood.

  After a moment, she turns to me, her face a blank.

  “You are free now, Lady Alice,” I remind her. “You may go in peace.”

  She nods and slowly moves away. She crosses through the blue barrier and walks toward the

  bridge, her figure fading into the darkness.

  I take a deep breath and look at Franklin. Once again, he speaks with Mary’s voice.

  “I thank you, Abby Fighting Eagle. And tender my thanks also to you, Franklin. You have made it

  possible for me to leave.”

  Then Franklin says softly: “Go in peace, Mary Hull.”

  What happens next is like a movie. Mary’s translucent form appears, superimposed on Franklin’s

  body. Smiling, she steps out of his body and toward the edge of the circle. When Mary reaches the

  blue sphere, the part in front of her changes, becoming a doorway and then a corridor of white

  light. Mary walks up the corridor and disappears.

  A groaning noise cracks the air, followed by a splash. The branch holding Mary’s corpse has broken

  and fallen into the river.

  I watch as the blue globe shimmers and fades. The Elementals are also gone. Franklin and I stand

  alone over the three candles burning low at our feet. I peer at him in the candlelight, wondering if

  he’s okay.

  He returns my stare and then blinks, his eyelashes fluttering up and down.

  “Wow,” he says. “I wonder if the kitchen is still open. You know, I haven’t eaten a single, solitary

  thing since breakfast?”

  7. Most of the time, magical work is pretty dull

  As far as the hotel kitchen, Franklin is out of luck. It’s after two when we get back to Tamgrove

  Hall. He asks the night clerk if it’s possible to get something to eat. The clerk looks regretful and

  explains that it would be very difficult. Franklin has to make do with a couple of protein bars he’s

  stashed away and that chocolate I bought earlier in the gift shop. I leave him happily munching in

  bed and head back to my room, wondering why I’m not feeling totally exhausted.

  Just a night in the life of a true magician, I suppose.

  I check my phone and find three texts from Molly, urgently asking how things are going. It’s only

  8:30 her time, so I send a message asking if she wants to talk. She immediately answers yes in

  capital letters, and I place the call.

  “Hey, Abby! Are you and Franklin okay? Did you vanquish the unruly ghosts?”

  I lean back on my pillow, smiling. “I’d say that’s an accurate description.”

  “Great! Tell me everything.”

  I give Mol y the director’s cut, a complete narrative. She interrupts from time to time to ask an

  incisive question or voice appropriate exclamations.

  “Holy crap! So the lord actually murdered his wife, and you got him to confess it?”

  “Wel , that was Franklin mostly. He brought a lot of force to the proceedings.”

  “And you managed to send all three ghosts on their way?”

  “Yup. I think so. If there’s any more haunting from those three, I will be very surprised.”

  Mol y pauses and then asks more thoughtfully, “Do you think Sir Charles was, like, in hell?”

  I have to ponder that. “I don’t know. Some writings say that where a soul goes after death depends

  on what they desire and are attached to. Like, you experience things on the other side similar to

  what you experienced in your life, until you’re done, until you’ve burned away all the karma so to

  speak. But then others say that a ghost isn’t really the soul of the person at all, just a shell of

  energy they’ve left behind.”

  “Hmm. Perplexing.”

  “Mysteries of life and death, girl,” I answer with a yawn. “You might ask Violet about it. She’s got a

  lot more experience than I have.”

  “I’m glad you mentioned her,” Molly says. “I found talking with her the last couple of days very

  interesting. She gave me copies of the Circle of Harmony introductory papers. She said, after I’ve

  studied them, she’ll talk to me some more, and I can consider initiating. What do you think, Abby?

  Could I make a true magician?”

  I’m floored by the idea. Never thought of Molly wanting to go there. “Well, of course, you

  could…You’re smart and honorable, and once you set your mind on something, you are very

  determined…”

  “Do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”

  “No! Well...it’s just that, you’re so extroverted, and you like excitement. Don’t be fooled by what’s

  happened with me the past few days. Most of the time, magical work is pretty dull—sitting and

  meditating, visualizing things in your head. I know you’re capable of doing it. I just don’t know how

  much you’d like it.”

  “I get ya. I guess I’ll have to think about it pretty carefully before I decide.”

  “Absolutely. Violet will help you. She certainly guided me along. Anyway, whatever you decide,

  Molly, I’ll support you. One hundred percent.”

  “Thanks, girlfriend. I know you will.”

  We’re both quiet for a long moment.

  “Listen,” Molly says, “I know it’s the middle of the night there. Should I let go so you can get some

  sleep?”

  “Actually, I’m wide awake. Still charged up from all that magic. Do you want to talk some more?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Tell me about Harmony Springs…How’s Ray-Ray?”

  §

  The next day is our last in Stratford-upon-Avon. We’ll be heading back to London for a few days

  before Franklin and I fly home.

  Still saturated with magical energy, I wake up early and go for a long run on the hotel grounds. The

  weather is cool and drizzly, and running feels great. Back in my room, I get a hot shower and then

  just make it downstairs in time for breakfast. Mom and Jim are sipping coffee, while Franklin is

  eating ravenously. I’m actually pretty ravenous myself and ask for some sausage and eggs along

  with my toast and jam.

  Later, Mom and Jim drive us into town and drop us at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. We have

  tickets for the one PM show of Macbeth, or as Franklin insists we call it, “the Scottish Play.” Mom is skipping the show and “touring around” with Jim. I expect that means they’re going back at the

  hotel to have sex. Or work. Most likely some of both. Anyway, they seem to be enjoying each

  other’s company, and I’m glad to see Mom so happy.

  As for Franklin, he seems okay, just quieter than normal. I get the sense he’s brooding, trying to

  absorb all the supernatural scenes he’s been through. I also get the sense I should leave it alone

  and not prod him about it just yet.

  We have seats in the center aisle, and the play is amazing.
I’ve read Macbeth in school, but there’s no comparison to seeing it live. Broderick Clutterhutch is even better than he was in the Oscar

  Wilde play. Franklin and I watch the first three acts with our mouths hanging open, hardly moving

  except to clutch each other’s wrist from time to time. That happens especially in the scene with

  the three witches and then again when the Ghost of Banquo appears.

  At intermission, we walk out to the lobby and buy soft drinks. We sip them while standing at a

  glass wall overlooking the River Avon. Franklin looks intent, and I venture to ask how he’s feeling.

  “Oh, wonderful! The performance is scintillating, don’t you think? This alone was worth the trip

  across the Atlantic.”

  “I’m enjoying it too. But I meant how are you feeling inside. Have you recovered from your brush

  with the paranormal?”

  He draws in a deep breath, looking highly uncertain. “O Abigail Adams. That is something I am

  excessively interested in figuring out.”

  “Wel , how much do you remember?” From my studies, I’ve learned that most people who have a

  prolonged encounter with the supernatural alter or even erase the memory. Their brains can’t

  handle such a major breach of reality, and so they respond as they do with dreams, remembering

  only fragments or nothing at all.

  “I remember all of it,” Franklin says, “That is, I think so…But it’s like I had this long weird dream.

  Some of it was terrifying. Some of it was amazingly cool. I especially remember the magic circle

  and the ghosts materializing there. Sir Charles—what a swine! When he was stonewalling you, it

  just infuriated me. I wanted to blast him. And I don’t know how, but I did. Franklin the wizard,

  right? I mean, I did blast him, didn’t I?”

  “You did indeed, wiz.”

  He chuckles at that.

  “Seriously,” I add. “I couldn’t have handled him without you.”

  Franklin looks pleased. “You know, he sort of reminded me of my father. Not that I literally would

  want to blast my old dad-bot. But the way he refused to admit the truth. Him and Lady Alice both,

  the way they refused to acknowledge the truth of Mary Hul and what they’d done to her.” He’s

  quiet for a moment. “I guess recognizing that about my father is what our therapist would have